This fire is cold, cold as the north wind blows
over the Belltown towers, blinking in their dead lights.
Beasts of Pacific silver, crowns of wire and iron bone,
cool jaded life, dispensing profane alleluias, alleluias, allelu,
forsook from the holies, allelu-lu-luia.
We can never trust in prayers, among these quadrangular titans,
diverting us from ourselves,
and gods.
Still, we do sing, allelu, allelu-lu-luia, hallelu-lu-luiah—we try.
As long as our hearts allow,
we push and strive, rather breaking in harsh clattering shatter,
before we bend knee, and bow
at the feet of the skyscrapers of Belltown.
